


I Think That Possibly Maybe I'm Falling For You

by fictionalfeelsandfrustrations



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - College/University, Because I can, F/M, M/M, musician!derek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-23
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-26 13:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/650981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalfeelsandfrustrations/pseuds/fictionalfeelsandfrustrations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He still couldn't get the singer's face out of his thoughts. In fact, Stiles was so preoccupied with the man's cheekbones and the way his long eyelashes fanned out against them that he forgot to be embarrassed about walking into class late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What Makes You Run?

**Author's Note:**

> This hopped into my brain while I was listening to Falling In Love In A Coffee Shop by Landon Pigg, which is where the title is from. 
> 
> I intend for it to be several chapters, although I don't know how many or how long they'll be.
> 
> I'm aiming for a pretty decent mix of music for Derek to sing. I have some classic rock, some folk, some hair-era rock, and some good old fashion crooning. 
> 
> I hope you like it! Feel free to leave concrit or any general nice things. =)

Stiles was running late. Again. Meaning he didn't have time to go all the way across campus to his favorite coffee place. The one he called Cheap Coffee, Good Cookies. Normally that wouldn't be a problem. He would just whip up some instant coffee and head out. Not this morning, though.

 

"Scott, I will murder you in your sleep next time you use the last of my instant coffee without telling me," Stiles growled into his phone.

 

"Dude. Did you have to call and wake me up to tell me that? You could've just texted me." He heard Scott groan on the other end of the line. Stiles held back a chuckle. He knew that meant that his best friend had just checked the time.

 

"Yes, I had to. Now I have to go to that one place with the shitty coffee and the rude barista. I needed the satisfaction of waking you up and physically growling at you to make it through the day. Now go back to sleep, you evil coffee stealing badger." He was nearing the coffee shop that he'd began thinking of as Bad Coffee, Mean People.

 

"Badger. Right. G'night, Stiles. Learn things," his best friend mumbled, already half-way back to sleep.

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and grinned. That boy had the most backward sleep schedule Stiles had ever seen. Granted, Stiles didn't sleep much, but at least the few hours he did get were while it was dark out. Scott slept from around 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. Which is why calling and waking him up at 8 in the morning had been so satisfying. Even though Stiles sort of felt bad about it now. He would apologize later.

 

Stiles would have foregone coffee completely this morning, except he'd been up until 4:30 working on a history paper. Three hours of sleep wasn't going to do it for him today, since he'd gotten roughly the same amount each night this week. He would catch up on the weekend. Right now he needed coffee and to speed walk to his 9 a.m. class. He checked the time on his phone.

 

"Dammit, Scott," he grumbled. He only had 20 minutes to make it to class, even though he’d only gotten up 30 minutes late.

 

He walked up to the counter. The dark boy in front of him gave him a blank look. "What do you want?"

 

Stiles huffed in frustration. Rubbing his forehead in a preemptive attack against the inevitable headache, he said, "I'm just going to pretend you asked, 'What can I get you' because I don't want to deal with a surly barista on top of everything else this morning. I need a very large drip coffee and whatever kind of baked thing is freshest." That sounded really vague. Stiles wondered if he should’ve been more specific, but decided it was enough information for the man to work with.

 

The man, whose nametag read Boyd, didn't change his expression at all. He took his time walking over to the glass case and examining the food there. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned to see what was going on in the shop behind him. He wanted to go behind the counter and fix his own damn coffee, but he was resisting. Scott would be so proud.

 

He had heard the faint strains of music when he had come in. Now he zeroed in on the source. On one wall of the room was a platform and on that platform was one of the most beautiful men Stiles had ever seen. His beauty was only heightened for Stiles by the guitar in his hands and the mic in front of him. It took Stiles a few seconds to move from internally flailing about his cheekbones to realizing that a voice like creamy mousse was coming from the man. Then he had to take a few more seconds before he could understand the words coming from that mouth that seemed to pout even as it sang.

 

Against the soft strumming, his voice carried across the room.

 

**"Winter beat the pines about.**

**He heard the heater**

**Cutting in and out,**

**While she dreamed away."**

 

There was a small guitar interlude, during which, Stiles just stared at the man's face. There were so many feelings showing there, but Stiles could only place two. There was hurt. And loss. He knew those two well enough from experience to spot them on someone else's face. The other expressions escaped him, though. Boyd tried to get his attention, but the man started singing again so Stiles held up a finger to silence the barista.

 

**"In the night**

**It snowed.**

**Fast tracks in the powder white,**

**Leading out to the road**

**Winding from her tender grasp.**

**Wild things run fast.**

**Wild things run fast.**

**Wild things run fast."**

 

"Your coffee, man. It's done. Come on," Stiles heard from behind him, drowning out the last few lines of the song.

 

 _What the ever loving fuck. Why would he do that?_ thought Stiles.

 

He rounded on the man. "Okay, listen. I was trying to listen to the song. I swear to every god ever that you are the rudest barista I've encountered to date. I'll take my coffee and pastry, but you're not getting a tip because you've pretty much been a douche the whole time. If I come back here, it will be to hear that beautiful man sing, not for your customer service." He handed the man a $5 bill and waited for his change. He wished he'd timed his tantrum better, for instance, after he’d already paid, because he could feel several pairs of eyes on him.

 

He still managed to storm out, but he kept his head down so as not to make eye contact with anyone. For all his initial embarrassment, he still couldn't get the singer's face out of his thoughts. In fact, Stiles was so preoccupied with the man's cheekbones and the way his long eyelashes fanned out against them that he forgot to be embarrassed about walking into class late.

 

 

* * *

 

Derek’s morning had not started on a high note. He woke up sweaty and panicking from the only nightmare he ever had. Kate Argent, burning his family alive while he watched from the tree he was tied to. So needless to say, Derek was not in a great frame of mind while picking out his set list for the day. He tried to put in some feel-good music, but he ended up letting some angst slip in. Wild Things Run Fast was the third song in his set.

 

He knew that even through his more upbeat songs, some of his melancholy snuck into his voice and phrasing. Every time he looked at the few patrons of the New Moon Café, he saw concern and a lack of understanding of his mood. They hadn’t had much experience with Derek in this frame of mind. He tried to rein it in.

 

But when he got to those angsty pieces, he let all of his wounds open up and pour out into the songs.

 

Wild Things was the worst, he’d known it would be. He could never decide which of them, he or Kate, was the wild thing. That tore into him, and he let it show.

 

He sang the whole song with his eyes closed. He didn’t necessarily want everyone present to know he’d been fucked over tremendously, but he didn’t try to hide it, either. The cut offs sounded broken and he wailed the longer notes. He was burning with a pain that was only going to be helped by singing it, loudly and just as he felt it.

 

**“In the dark**

**He could see**

**The trap that was lying in her**

**Sweet company,**

**Eating from her hand at last.**

**Wild things run fast.”**

 

As he ended the song ( **Wild thing, I thought you loved me** ) he heard someone shouting. He brought himself back from the haunting of his nightmare to see who was doing the yelling and why. Usually this place didn’t get enough customers to have any sort of disturbances. He caught the tail end of the rant coming from the front of the room.

 

“—pretty much been a douche the whole time. If I come back here, it will be to hear that beautiful man sing, not for your customer service.”

 

Had he said beautiful? Derek kept his eyes trained on the boy. He was at the perfect angle to see a flush creep up his neck and over his visible ear as he handed Boyd a bill. He wondered why until he saw that Boyed was making change. He had to stay and wait for it or Boyd would keep it as a tip, which Derek was sure the boy wouldn’t want.

 

When the boy stalked out of the building with coffee in one hand, a paper sack in the other and his head down, Derek felt some of his heaviness melt away. What a funny person. He wondered about his age and if he always felt the need to shout at the people who were preparing his food. And he’d called Derek beautiful? That was a new one.

 

Through the rest of his set, he thought about the blush on the boy’s neck. Half-way through his final song, he realized that his bad mood had all but disappeared. He needed to know who the boy was. He would start with Boyd.

 

He walked up to the man he’d known for years and had come to trust as family. “Who was the guy?”

 

“I don’t know. He comes in sometimes and he’s always in a hurry. He wasn’t today, though.” Derek thought it was a tribute to their friendship that Boyd had known what he meant and what he wanted to hear from the four words he’d used.

 

“Does he go to the college?” Derek asked, aiming for indifference. He knew he “casual posture” was too stiff and he could feel a blush trying to creep up his face. Which just made him think of the boy blushing and the boy’s neck. He cleared his throat unnecessarily.

 

“I think he said something about a 9 o’clock class once. You want me to do recon next time he comes in?” Boyd looked at him sideways.

 

“Yes. Covert recon, Boyd. Don’t fuck it up.” He slapped the man on the back and went to pack his things up.  Soon he’d know. Boyd didn’t fuck things up. Soon he’d know about the boy and he might be able to make a move. Maybe.


	2. Suppose I Said I'm On My Best Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd does recon. Stiles cries because John Mayer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've pretty much decided that Stiles had a John Mayer playlist dedicated to Lydia at one point. So.

So. Stiles wasn't running late this morning. He'd managed to get almost six hours of sleep, so he didn't really _need_  coffee. He got dressed in his normal clothes. Okay, maybe the button-down wasn't exactly normal. But he rationalized that all his other shirts smelled. This was true, but wouldn’t have normally stopped him from dousing one in Axe and wearing it anyway. He makes himself feel normal by grabbing his orange hoodie.

 

All morning while getting ready, he told himself that he was just going to make some instant coffee and go ask his abnormal psych professor about some of the reading from last night. He was _not_  going to go ogle that singer. Nope. He made his coffee, according to plan. Then on his way out the door, he left it on the counter. While he was walking, he pulled out his phone to check his Facebook. When he looked back up, he was standing outside Bad Coffee, Mean People. Err...New Moon Cafe. He checked the time. It was 8:07. Christ. He had almost an hour. Which he should be spending getting help with and hashing through his psych reading.

 

He walked in anyway. He made his way to the counter, noticing that it was still Boyd.

 

"Doesn't anyone else work here? Damn, you've been working every single time I've come in!" Stiles felt perturbed, but he was aiming for a friendly, joking tone.

 

Boyd remained expressionless, but to Stiles bafflement, he did answer. "My girlfriend, Erica, takes over at 9:30 so I can get to my 10 o'clock."

 

Stiles gaped for a moment. "Oh. I. You. You have a girlfriend. That's. Well, I mean, not surprising. It's not like you're unattractive or anything. You're just so...Hey. Sorry I called you a douche yesterday." Which, Boyd had totally been douchey. But Stiles did sort of feel bad for yelling it in the middle of the shop.

 

"It's cool. What can I get you? Black drip and a pastry?"

 

Stiles looked at him, trying to understand why he was suddenly so much less rude. Okay. Well. Stiles would just use this new found un-rudeness to his advantage and try to get the skinny on the singer. Who was singing behind him. Stiles resisted the urge to turn around and instead, answered the man.

 

"Actually, I'm not in even a little bit of a hurry this morning. So. I'd like a very big," he really needed to get a handle on the damn coffee sizes, "triple shot caramel latte and...hmmm. How's the pound cake?"

 

Boyd looked up from the cup he'd been writing on. "Heavy and moist. As pound cake should be."

 

Stiles nodded. "A piece of that and a white-chocolate-macadamia nut scone. That's what I had yesterday, right? It was excellent."

 

Boyd nodded again and moved to get Stiles' food from the glass case. Stiles leaned against the counter and watched the man singing for a moment. He didn't recognize the song, but God, that man's face. He hit a high note and tilted his head slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Stiles let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when the man opened his eyes. He could tell that he wasn't aware of the coffee shop or the few patrons staring at him adoringly. He was in his own world.

 

Boyd cleared his throat. Stiles turned around a blinked, taking the plate with his cake and scone. He tried to shake himself from the stupor the singer had put him in. "So," he started cautiously. "You guys don't seem to be very busy. Is it always like this?" That seemed safe and...Dammit. Not about the singer at all. He would just have to work his way there.

 

Boyd answered him while preparing his latte. "Pretty much. There tend to be a few more customers when Erica's working. But mostly we just have a few regular customers that are always here when Derek is. They're the ones who keep us in business."

 

Derek? Was that...? Stiles turned to look at the man on stage. Boyd chuckled. Stiles whipped back around, sure his ears were playing tricks on him. There was a trace of a smirk on the man's face as he nodded, though, so maybe not.

 

Stiles tried to think of something subtle to ask about Derek. "I bet his girlfriend is one of them, huh?" That was...barely subtle. 

 

Boyd shook his head. "Nope."

 

That was probably the least amount of information he could have given without just ignoring the question. Now Stiles was sincerely afraid that he had a girlfriend, but she didn't like coffee, so she just didn't come in.

 

Boyd handed Stiles his coffee and leaned against the counter behind him, arms crossed over his chest. "What are you studying?"

 

"Psychology," Stiles gulped. He was acutely aware that Boyd was looking him over. He would've thought "checking him out," except there was way too much judgment happening for that to be the case. He wanted to go sit down with his coffee and goodies and watch the pretty man-- Derek, he reminded himself-- sing.

 

"Really? You look pretty young to be so decided already," Boyd finally said after a moment of scrutiny.

 

Stiles found himself huffing. "I'm in the last semester of my junior year, thanks. I pretty much have it figured out." He handed the man a $10 bill.

 

Boyd actually grinned at that as he took the money. "Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."

 

" 'Sok. People always assume I'm way younger than I am. It's not really that big of a deal. Mostly it only affects my dating. Nobody wants to date a baby." He huffed again, and then chuckled. "Whatever, though, I guess."

 

"You got anyone right now?" And Boyd kept eye-contact, which was weird. But no hand contact when he handed the change back, which Stiles immediately deposited in the tip jar. Mixed signals!

 

What. Stiles rethought the "not checking out" bit. He was sure Boyd had just said he had a girlfriend. He really just wanted to go watch Derek and not deal with the weird 20 questions from Boyd. It was obvious he wasn't going to learn anything from him about Derek. 

 

"Nope." He thought about saying, "But I have my eye on someone," but that sounded like flirting and nope. He did not want to encourage that. Bro has a girlfriend and Stiles doesn't need that drama.

 

Luckily, before Boyd can come up with another question, someone walks in. Stiles just sort of waved, sort of flailed in Boyd's direction before taking his things to a table. He opts for one about half-way to the stage and slightly to the left. That way he could watch, could see Derek's eyes when they were open, without worrying about Derek looking right at him. Button-down aside, he was not ready for that.

 

Stiles checked the time again. 8:20. He really did need to get some help from his professor. He decided to stay and listen for ten minutes, maybe talk to Derek if he took a break but probably just stare at him, leave by 8:30 and be able to squeeze in a solid 15 minutes of help before class. Yes. Perfect.

 

Derek starts a new song and Stiles makes himself focus. He has definitely heard it before. He finds himself humming along quietly.

 

“Would you want me

When I’m not myself?

Wait it out

While I am someone else?

 

Suppose I said

Colors change for no good reason

And words will go

From poetry to prose.”

 

Oh. That’s John Mayer. That’s one of his favorite John Mayer songs, aside from all the ones he had dedicated to Lydia in high school. He may or may not start crying and have to leave the shop early.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Derek is getting dressed up. He’s not going to lie about it. He puts on a really nice pair of dark jeans which he’s been told make his ass look “fucking amazing” (thank you Erica) and a dark blue shirt. It’s so dark, it’s practically black, but it’s tight in the right places and Derek wants the boy to notice the right places. He’s not really expecting him to be there, but he’s hoping. Really hard.

 

He spends more time on his hair than he does picking out his set list. He picks a few crowd pleasers, some Crosby, Stills and Nash, some John Mayer, and then figured he would just fill with whatever he was feeling like singing. He usually only did this when he’d had a long night or a rough morning, but the audience didn’t seem to mind. They were generally happy with whatever he ended up singing.

 

He gets to the shop, 7:30 as usual, fully not expecting the nameless boy to be there. He sets up on the little platform and starts off with Coldplay. He’s halfway through his set when someone comes in. Derek finishes the Sinatra song just in time to overhear the boy placing his order. A very big latte. Damn. Why was that so endearing?

 

He needed to just calm down and keep playing, because he couldn’t afford to get attached before he knew anything about him. He trusted Boyd to find out the important things.

 

But if you were to ask him later what he played while Boyd was talking to the boy, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. He was too engrossed in watching how this kid moved. Every movement was sharper, more exaggerated than anyone’s movements needed to be. Even when he nodded, the gesture was jerky and abrupt. And Jesus. Was he capable of standing still?

 

At one point he turned toward Derek and he had to jerk his gaze to the other side of the room or be caught staring. The same thing happens when a customer comes in and the guy moves to a table, slightly off center of the stage. Now Derek can’t look, so he focuses more on what he’s singing. The next song is actually one of the few John Mayer songs he really cares for.

 

“Suppose I said

I am on my best behavior.

And there are times

I lose my worried mind.”

 

More true than Derek would admit in any form other than song.

 

“Would you want me

When I’m not myself?

Wait it out

While I am someone else?”

 

And he was aware that it was too soon to be asking that of this nameless person, but he was asking it. He let his gaze flicker to him and saw that he looked thoughtful. But during the second verse the look changed and Derek had no idea what the new expression was. All he knew was that suddenly the boy was running out of the building, leaving his coffee and food untouched.

 

Derek was mortified. What had just happened? He finished the song half-heartedly. He wanted to just stop for the day, but knew that everyone would be disappointed. He sang two more short songs and finished just before 8:30.

 

He packed up quickly and went over to Boyd.

 

“What the hell?”

 

“I don’t know, man. But I know that his name is Stiles, he’s a psych major in his last semester of his junior year, and he is definitely interested in you. He basically asked if you have a girlfriend. He has trouble dating because everyone thinks he’s underage.” Boyd ticked each piece of information off on his fingers.

 

“He told you all that?” Derek felt his eyebrows doing complicated things on his forehead. He didn’t know why he was feeling vaguely jealous. He had asked Boyd to do this. And he knew Boyd wasn’t interested in…Stiles?

 

“Well. Everything except his name. I found that out from a friend.” Boyd flashed him a quick grin. Derek had learned not to question Boyd’s methods.

 

“Stiles. What the hell even?”

 

“I bet he’ll be back tomorrow. You should talk to him.” And that was new. Boyd was not an advice giver.

 

“Maybe. I don’t know what happened during Not Myself.”

 

“He looked distraught and he left his stuff. Ask tomorrow.”

 

“Maybe,” Derek sighed as he walked away from the counter. Derek was not liking the sighing thing. That was going to have to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to the song here:
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SeC2z_AfRSQ

**Author's Note:**

> The song. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rk_J-PDXifo
> 
> Originally by Joni Mitchell.


End file.
